


You Smell Like Fire

by ToAStranger



Series: Giving Myself to You (Prompt Fills) [17]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Rutting, true alpha!scott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 03:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3635784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was just trying to be nice. </p><p>- - - </p><p>Prompt fill for thedamnriddler</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Smell Like Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDamnRiddler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDamnRiddler/gifts).



Stiles walks in the door past dark, hair wet and matted to his head.  He doesn’t bothered shedding his coat even as he toes off his shoes, padding away from the foyer and towards the kitchen.  

“Scott, I’m home!” He calls over his shoulder as he pulls open the fridge door, peering within.  “Sorry I’m late.  Found a stray on the side of the road and had to help her to Deaton’s.”

He reaches in, shifting things around.  When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for hiding behind the milk carton, he ducks a bit lower, digging towards the back. 

“Do we have any beer left?” Stiles asks, brows pinching.

There’s no reply.  Pulling out of the fridge, he twists around, whole body seizing in shock when he finds Scott only a few inches away.

His smile goes crooked, and he drags a slow hand through his wet hair as Scott looks him over.  It’s an odd, predatory kind of thing, jaw set tight and nostrils flaring.  Shifting from foot to foot, Stiles huffs out a little breath as he rests back against the freezer door and drapes his arm over the lip of the open fridge.

“Hey, there, Scott.”  Stiles breathes.  “What’s up, man?”

Scott leans in, inhales long and deep, eyes bleeding red. 

Stiles swallows thickly.  “Out of beer, then?”

“Who were you with?” he asks.

“What--?”

Scott’s arms come up, palms pressing to the door at either side of Stiles’ head, leaning in and breathing slow.  “ _Who_ ” – his teeth are sharp, voice dark – “were you with?”

“Um,” Stiles clears his throat, breath catching as Scott drags his nose up the line of his throat to take long, full breaths just under Stiles’ ear.  “There was—There was a girl—I mean, she was more like a woman, but she was on the side of the road—and it’s fucking raining out, dude, so I—I, uh—I…”

“Did you stop and help her?” Scott asks, and Stiles shudders at the low rumble that vibrates over his skin.  “Did she say thank you?”

Stiles huffs out a sharp little sound, rolling his eyes.  “I mean, _duh_.  I just—I took her to Deaton’s is all.”

“Anything _else_?”  Scott asks, pulling back, eyes still red.

Stiles shudders, feels something in him twist tight, and Scott smiles slow as he takes another breath of him.  Lips parted, Stiles presses back further.  He hears the dull scrape of Scott’s claws against the textured metal of the fridge door. 

He feels crowded.  Suddenly too hot despite the still cold cling of rain water on his clothes.  Tugging at the collar of his shirt, he clears his throat again, intent on keeping his breath steady.  Scott just stares at him, gaze vivid and intense on Stiles.

“I let her—Uh, I let her wear my coat?” Stiles tries.

Scott hums, eyes dropping to the soaked jacket still on Stiles’ shoulders.  He plucks at it with clawed fingers, brows up.  His smile is still unnervingly wicked; Stiles can’t help but feel like Scott is playing with is food.

“This coat?” he asks.

“Yes,” Stiles nods.

Scott meets his gaze again.  “Take it off.”

There is a pause. 

“What?” Stiles asks.

“Take. It.” Scott hisses, slicing the threads of one button, then another, with sharp claws.  “ _Off_.”

Stiles is quick to squirm out of it, tossing it aside.  It rests in a heap on the kitchen floor, and Scott’s smile broadens.  He tugs at Stiles’ shirt.

“Now, this.”

“Scott,” Stiles breathes, shaking his head, heart rabbiting in his chest.  “What’s gotten into you?”

Scott laughs, soft and slow.  “You don’t even know, do you?  How good you smell right now?”

“I do?” Stiles asks, voice less than a whisper, Scott’s face lingering close to his.

“Aside from how hot you are for me?”  Scott grins, head tilting.  “Oh, yeah.”

“What do I—“ Stiles hesitates, shifts, chin tilting up slightly.  “What do I smell like?”

“ _Heat_ ,” Scott says, baring his fangs.  “Like, _want_.  Like, you’re just begging to be _bred_.”

He presses his knee between Stiles’ thighs, and Stiles gasps. 

“ _What_?”

“Don’t play dumb, Stiles.” Scott chides.  “I know that you know all about werewolf heats.  That woman you picked up?”

Stiles nods.

“She was in heat,” Scott says.  “And I can smell it _all over you_.”

“And what does—I mean, what does that—“

Scott shifts, hips pressing to Stiles’ hips, and Stiles gasps when he feels the hard press of Scott’s cock against his.  “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah,” Scott cants his head, nudges at Stiles nose.  “Oh.”

With a soft sound, Stiles closes the space between them.  Their lips slant together, and Scott groans, low and guttural as he presses flush to Stiles.  Gripping Stiles’ hips, they rut, and the contents of the fridge clatter with their movements.  Stiles moans as he drapes his arms around Scott’s shoulders.

When Scott’s hands sink up under the bottom hem of Stiles’ shirt, Stiles pulls back with a little gasp.  They rock for a moment, Stiles’ eyes darting between Scott’s, and he licks his lips—kiss swollen and tender.  Scott’s brow goes up.

“We should go upstairs,” Stiles mutters.  “Shouldn’t we?”

Scott groans, nodding.  “Thought you’d never ask.” 


End file.
